


these days feel numbered & short

by APgeeksout



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Background Relationships, Episode Tag, Friendship, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Solidarity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 10:37:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6150835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APgeeksout/pseuds/APgeeksout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The knock at the door of the dressing room filled his throat up with curses, set his hands curling back into fists. He didn't want to deal with anyone, and especially not anyone stupid enough to come looking for him right now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dean gets a visitor after the 2.29.2016 episode of RAW.</p>
            </blockquote>





	these days feel numbered & short

**Author's Note:**

> A while ago, I started out to write some Roman Reigns/Daniel Bryan, and that fic - which is still half-written and half in my head /0\ - wound up being mostly about Dean and Brie surprising themselves as much as anybody else by bonding over margaritas and terrible reality shows and becoming actual close friends while their guys have more or less casual sex in another part of the house.
> 
> One of these days, I'm going to actually finish and post that fic /0\ but in the meantime, I think this stands well enough on its own, at a point in kayfabe where they could both use a friend.

The knock at the door of the dressing room filled his throat up with curses, set his hands curling back into fists. He didn't want to deal with anyone, and especially not anyone stupid enough to come looking for him right now.

"Dean? It's Brie. You decent?"

He breathed out a laugh, at himself, at her question, at the whole fucking night. "Never, if I can help it," he called, and walked over to throw the cheap bolt on the door. "My junk is covered, though." He opened the door a crack for her. "Come in if you want."

She grimaced at his face for an instant before smoothing the horror away and settling for a frown. "Your poor eye," she said. "You need so much more ice."

"Guess it looks about as good as it feels?" His smile was lopsided, but maybe it'd balance out the swelling on the other side. "Good thing you and Roman are the pretty ones."

He dropped wearily into a chair and leaned forward to scrub the towel slung around his neck through his damp hair, avoiding the tender spot that'd caught some of the clutter on the table. Neither of them touched the fact that Roman wasn't having his most beautiful week, with his nose still occasionally dripping blood and the circles beneath his eyes slowly fading from angry purple-red to sallow yellow-brown.

"Speaking of your guy," she said, the toes of her fancy red shoes coming into his field of vision as she drew closer, "he's worried you're not answering your phone."

He sat up, the back of the chair cool behind his shoulder blades, and she held her own phone up so that he could read the chain of texts between Roman and Brie on her screen:  _just let me know he's ok_ at the bottom. His vision blurred and he blinked rapidly. He glanced over to his phone, muted on the dressing table, and reflected in the vanity mirror, his expression looked guilty even to his own eyes.

"What's he doing up, watching this bullshit? Supposed to be resting."

"Bet he wouldn't mind you scolding him about being up past his bedtime if it meant he got to talk to you right now."

"And remind me what a dumbass I'm being?" He sighed. Whatever made the cut onto the Divas show, Brie was only _really_ annoying when he knew she was right about shit like this. He twisted the towel up into a tighter and tighter rope in his lap. "Your whole thing with Steph..." he started. "You get it. I know you do. I can't just lay down. I mean, fuck, they're probably gonna get away with all of it, but they don't get to do it easy."

She pocketed her phone and crouched down beside his chair, the extra height she got from her shoes putting them at eye-level. "I've been here," she agreed, resting a hand on his knee. "And I've been where Roman is: watching somebody you love take a suicide dive right into trouble, over and over." Her voice faltered, and he covered her hand with his own, earning him a flickery little smile before she went on. "Neither way is fun, but he's stuck at home, feeling at least as helpless as you do, and you're going to need each other on the other side of this.  You have to talk to each other."

He shifted his grip on her hand, raising it up to drop a kiss onto her knuckles. "You looking at 'life coach' if the whole organic food thing doesn't pan out?"

"I'm looking at everything," she said softly, and straightened up onto her feet. "If I'm right that you're going to try to leave without seeing a trainer, I'll even try my hand at that. If you're going to be stubborn, let me help you tape up, at least."

He nodded. Not like he'd been looking forward to twisting himself up trying to do it alone. Like a lot of his life these last couple of years, it's turned into a two-man job.

She helped him haul his ass up out of the chair and led him over to the dressing table and its fine assortment of gauze rolls and cloth tape and elastic bandages. He turned from the mirror and checked out the scratches and scrapes scattered over the skin of his back. A few of them had stung in the shower, but none of them would end up a fresh scar.

He walked her through how to wrap this piece and tape that layer tuck those edges so that he could still move underneath the wrappings and bit back on any of the hisses or grunts that tried to work their way out of him while she fussed over him.

"How's that?" she asked, smoothing over the wrapping around his ribs. "Too tight?"

"'m good. Know who to call when I need a mummy costume, come Halloween."

"You are not 'good'. You're still hurt." She brushed cool fingers over the part of his cheek that was throbbing hardest in time with his heart. "And if you're serious about Halloween costumes, let me know," she said, with a brighter smile than he'd seen all night. "Maybe the four of us could do a theme?"

"It's hard to laugh with my ribs like this," he said, leaning back against the tabletop and smirking at her TV-ready, open-mouthed look of offense.

"We'll see who's laughing when I get Daniel and Roman on my side."

"It's always the numbers game."

"It'll get you every time." Her rueful smile matched his own. "You have anybody riding to Atlanta with you?"

"Nope."

"I'm alone, too. Come with me?"

"Lemme think on it. Do I get to pick the music?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm going to go get some ice, and you are going to pack your bag."

"Yes, ma'am." If he were less banged-up, he figured she'd have slugged him for that one. "Hey," he said, drawing her back before she turned for the door. "Don't listen to those BAD girls. You're not alone out here."

Her eyes filled at that, and she stepped in to wrap a careful arm around him and rest her head on his shoulder.

As she pulled away, she pressed his phone, already ringing, into his palm. "Neither are you."

"Dean?" Roman's voice, congested the way it had been since the surgery, crackled out of the speaker as she slipped back out into the hall. "Dean? You there?"

"I'm here, brother," he said, finding his own voice thick in his throat at Roman's heavy sigh of relief. "All in one piece. Been hanging out with my babysitter."

"Brie?"

"Of course, Brie. Unless this is you telling me you got the whole women's division on my trail now."

"Nah, nobody else."

"But now you're wondering if Tamina could hold me back, right?"

Roman's only answer was to laugh, soft and deep at the other end of the line, and even with his chest compressed by the tape, Dean breathed easier.


End file.
